


For You, I Will.

by OnlyHereForGallavich (orphan_account)



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Amputation, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Gallavich, Hurt/Comfort, Ian Gallagher Loves Mickey Milkovich, M/M, Mickey Milkovich Loves Ian Gallagher, Protective!Mickey, Self-Esteem Issues, War, Worried Ian, duh - Freeform, futuristc, it's me writing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-18 20:59:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11298744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/OnlyHereForGallavich
Summary: Mickey is in love with Ian, a veteran returned from Iraq with an amputated leg. When a worsening war situation makes it necessary for all veterans to return to battle, Mickey is scared Ian will get hurt again, and decides to take his place.A kind-of Mulan AU





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> WHAT AM I DOING.
> 
> I keep getting excited about stories and writing them even though I have 50,000 things to complete. 
> 
> Good job, me.
> 
> Anywho, here is a 3-ish multichap that came out of nowhere.

    When Mickey met Ian the first time, he was a stumbling, problematic customer Mickey needed to get _out_ of the bar. Mickey’s boss gave him one look, and he told Mickey to get him to leave before he inevitably caused trouble. When Mickey approached the tall, red haired man gingerly ( _Ha._ Ginger _ly),_ saying, “Hey, man, I’m going to have to ask you to lea-“

 

    Ginger blinked up at him owlishly. “D’you think I’m cute?” he asked, shocking Mickey, and himself too, if his expression was of any indication.

 

    “I’m sorry,” Ginger sighed immediately, “That was inappropriate. But just- humour me?”

 

    Mickey scratched at his neck, wondering if he had stumbled upon the dorkiest guy ever, or someone high on one of those new drugs on the market Mickey couldn’t afford to buy. “Nothing to worry about, Ginger,” he responded, immediately reprimanding himself mentally for revealing the idle nickname. _Once you name it, you get attached to it._ “You look fine to me.”

 

    Ginger let out a sardonic laugh, which was _not_ the response Mickey had been expecting. His experience with flirting was rather limited, but he knew that compliments usually invited false humility and preening. And though he wouldn’t put money on it, Mickey had a feeling Ginger was the type to preen.

 

    “Are you gay?” Ginger asked suddenly, wide eyed and fucking Disney-looking. Mickey wondered if Ginger was perhaps some kind of mythical being that spent his nights prowling bars and looking for unsuspecting men to seduce with inappropriate questions. If he was, Mickey decided that he was here for it.

 

    “Fuck,” Ginger groaned, “That was even worse. I shouldn’t just assume- god, just ignore me.”

 

   Mickey grinned, debating on whether or not to leave him to stew. Finally, he decided to put him out of his misery. “Assuming doesn’t have to be a bad thing, Ginger. I’m off at one- you can pay me a visit if you’re patient.”

 

    Satisfied that this time it was him who had left Ginger speechless, he turned around and left with a bounce to his step.

 

 

///

 

 

    Ginger did indeed prove to be patient, and was sucking on a dying cigarette outside the bar when Mickey got out. They didn't beat around the bush- they knew exactly what they were there for. They went back to what Mickey correctly assumed was Ginger’s place, and it wasn't until they started undressing that Mickey realised why Ginger had been so concerned with his own appearance.

 

    His leg was amputated from knee down, and despite the good quality of his prosthetic, it couldn’t create an illusion. Mickey couldn’t lie; his stomach had dropped when he saw it at first- but mostly because of the shock. Mickey wasn't squeamish about injuries, nor did he have a problem with people with amputations. He had a cousin with an amputated arm, and it had changed nothing for him; a Milkovich was a Milkovich even if he was missing a limb.

 

     Ginger noticed Mickey’s slight pause, and sighed, resigned. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you- you obviously-“

 

    Mickey’s eyebrows drew together. “You don’t know me, Ginger. Nothing’s obvious. I don’t give a shit. Everything I’m here for seems to working just fine.”

 

    He punctuated the last the sentence with a palm against Ginger’s crotch, and a thumb stroking against his lips. It was clear Ginger wasn't feeling good about himself. But Mickey didn't do charity in any aspect of his life. He was here because he wanted to be- because Ginger and his red hair and stupid words had caught him off guard and pleasantly surprised. He hoped Ginger understood that. If he didn't? Mickey would just have to make him understand.

 

 

///

 

 

   That was the start of the best three years of Mickey’s life. Happiness had always felt temporary to him, growing up the way he did. With Ian, he discovered that there was more to life than staying afloat and trying not to drown again. Ian was that prince Mickey hadn’t thought existed, the love that meant more to him than his life. In those years, Mickey came to know Ian better than even himself.

 

    Ian, who loved scary movies but couldn’t bear to watch them. Ian, who liked to read books by weird, dead Russian people whose names Mickey could never pronounce. Ian , who had loved his independence enough to join the army, only to be sent back years later, leg left behind in the battlefield. Ian, who had nightmares about battle, but still attended to Mickey with just as much focus when he dreamed of his father. Ian, who was going _back._

It wasn't voluntary. Ian, now working as an editor, didn't need the army to feel free anymore. He had a life, he had Mickey. But though everything had been perfect for _them,_ the same couldn’t be said for the political scenario. Suddenly, the fighting in Asia became more aggressive, a war, though no one liked to admit to that. Drafting became compulsory. Young veterans were snatched back into the life they had left behind. And Ian, beautiful and safe, would be taken away from this life.

 

    The letter on their bed side summoning him weighed heavily on Mickey’s every time he saw it. He knew Ian had adjusted well to his leg in the last two years, and Mickey would never think he was any less because of it. But every now and then, he would trip up or fall. Ian would laugh it off, and Mickey too could find humour in it. Now, it terrified him. When he closed his eyes, all he could picture was Ian tripping while running for cover, or falling when he needed to escape. It would take just that moment, just that one slip up, and Ian would be lost to Mickey forever.

 

    It wasn't that he viewed Ian as weak. He never could, not after knowing everything Ian had survived, not after Ian had loved and protected him for the last three years. But the night before Ian was due to leave, Mickey had asked Ian to promise him he would come home. Ian had hesitated, and Mickey had seen every single one of his fears lined up and reflected in Ian’s eyes.

 

   Mickey broke, in that moment. He buckled, and all of his trying to press down his feelings failed and he made a split second decision that may not have been the smartest. But he would never regret it, even if he was the one who might be lying lifeless in foreign soil in a few weeks, because Ian would be _safe._ He would be safe and protected and nothing meant more to Mickey than that.

 

    So he took Ian’s uniform, and got a guy he knew to make a quick fix on his ID. He also took his letter, leaving behind one of his own in return. With a risky kiss to Ian’s forehead, Mickey stole out of their house and into the night.


	2. 2

    The first time Ian had seen Mickey Milkovich was before the first time Mickey had seen him. Only a few seconds before, but still worth noting. Ian liked to think that he fell in love with Mickey the moment he saw him taking a sip of the whiskey he was supposed to be serving, as if to cope with the stupidity of his customers. It was that swift defiance, that fierceness, that perhaps drove Ian to ‘make his move’ in the lamest way humankind had ever seen. They weren’t the kind of couple that played the ‘who fell in love first’ game, but if they did, Ian would win.

 

    Ian didn't think it could better after the first night they had been together. That night when Mickey had evaporated his fears and doubts, if just for a while, and then in a more permanent way. As months passed, Ian realised that it didn't really matter to him if no one else found him attractive anymore because of his leg- the person who mattered did.

 

    Mickey was the one who mattered- more than Ian’s flippant family, more than the army that had paid his bills and then waved him goodbye. Mickey was the one who took the time to learn Ian’s intricacies, to read his silent cues and turn him inside out. Ian had always been the middle child- too young to be looked up to, but too old to be protected. It was Mickey who had seen him as something more.

 

     Ian loved Mickey in a way that he had never expected to love anyone. Growing up the way he had, Ian’s life had been a series of casual, usually older and married, flings. It was never permanent, and that didn't bring him down much. He didn't invest too much heart in his relationships; not until Mickey had appeared and given him no apparent choice.

 

    How could Ian not love the man who unflinchingly stood by him though Ian’s family was an absolute disrespectful nightmare? How could he not love the man who acted tough, but loved ballads, and took his coffee with no less than three packs of sugar. Mickey, who liked art and was an undercover cuddle connoisseur.

 

    Mickey wasn't cuddling with him that morning- that should have been the first red flag. Ian woke up confused, unused to the cold emptiness next to him. “Mick?” he called, eyes still closed, guessing that Mickey had just gone to the bathroom, or downstairs for coffee. It could’ve been a sleepless night for Mickey- he wasn't handling Ian leaving all that well.

 

    That thought had Ian waking up more thoroughly, sitting up, sheets tangled around his waist. With haste, he attached the prosthetic that always sat next to their bed at night, and looked around his surroundings for possible clues. His eyes took in the missing uniform, the paper that looked unfamiliar sitting on his bedside table. His brain was slow to follow, and put all the cues together. His heart beat dully, uselessly in his chest, as he picked up the piece of paper.

 

    _Ian,_

_You’ve probably already figured it out, but if you haven’t, I’m probably halfway to the airport by now. I couldn’t watch you leave, not when I know how bad it got last time. I know you said it’ll be fine, but I couldn’t._

_I’m not sorry. You know you would do it for me if the roles were reversed. It’s not because you’re weak- you know I think you’re perfect. But you’re safer here. It would eat me alive to sit at home picturing you out there._

_It’s going to be okay, just like you told me it would. You know I’m a tough cookie. I love you so much, Ginger, and I hope you understand._

    Ian’s breath came in shorts and stops, and his mind was overwhelmed with a constant chant of _no, no, no._ It transferred into actual speech, and he tore at his hair, “No, no, _no!”_

 

     The madness, the noise in his mind reminded him of when he first came back from the Iraq, never to be the same again. It was a storm only Mickey had quietened, and now it rolled over him in waves again, for an entirely different reason.

 

    He got in his car, drove to the airport recklessly, but he didn't make it in time. He arrived just the plane full of cadets flew to base in Iraq, not bothering with basic because they were all supposed to be veterans.

 

    _God,_ Mickey was in a plane on the way to a war with no training. Ian was going to be sick. Ian had lived, breathed the army, and still ended up with an amputated leg. Mickey, _god,_ Mickey was going to get hurt and it would be Ian’s fault. It was all his fault.

 

    Ian said out loud to himself, “You’re not a fucking damsel. You’re not allowed to faint.” But apparently his body didn't get the memo, because a moment later the floor was crashing into his knees, and darkness swallowed him alive.

 

 

///

 

 

    When Ian woke up again, it was once again without Mickey by his side. There was a steady beeping sound, and the clinical smell, clued him in to the fact that he was in a hospital.

 

    Hospitals scared Ian. They reminded him of how it had felt lying in a bed, learning that he would forever be missing a limb. Even when Mickey brought him in for his compulsory veteran therapy, Ian’s heart would race a little and Mickey wouldn’t let him go until he was ready to.

 

     The thought of Mickey once again made Ian’s eyes sting. He sat up slightly, mouth dry. He was instantly surrounded. Fiona, Lip, Debbie, demanding how he was and what happened. Ian felt weighed down by all their questions, and his eyes fell on a much more welcome figure. _Mandy._

 

    “Mandy,” he repeated, out loud this time. She was hanging behind the crowd, clearly unsure, but his call beckoned her forward, making Fiona and Lip look completely insulted. “Ian,” she said, “How you doing, bud?”

 

    Ian’s face must have crumpled, because she darted forward to hold him. She asked Ian’s family to give them some privacy, and the moment they left, Ian broke. They didn't even speak for the first few moments; Ian bent in half as he tried to contain the heaving sobs that overwhelmed him. He hadn’t cried like this since he was a little kid, before he had realised that everyone was too busy surviving to really care. He tried to get words out, only succeeding in saying Mickey’s name over and over again.

 

     Ian felt like someone had taken a hot poker to his heart- the constant visions of Mickey getting hurt or killed stabbed him again and again with no respite. He gasped, slowly coming back to himself. “Mickey,” he said in a voice that was small, and not a lot like his at all, “He went. He went instead of me.”  Mandy wasn't surprised. She nodded, saying, “I know. He called me today morning.”

 

    Ian flinched away from her like she had hit him. “ _What?”_ he exclaimed, “Why didn't you stop him? How could you let him go?!”

 

    Mandy was calm in the face of his aggression. “His mind was made up, Ian. You know how he is. He’s going to be fine. Told me to keep you smiling.”

 

   Ian was so baffled and overwhelmed he didn't know what to do. “I don’t want- I mean, I need Mickey. Need him to be safe. We have to bring him back! Or do something- Mandy he can’t just _go_.”

 

    Ian’s heart fell as he looked at Mandy’s heartbroken expression and realised, with shattering clarity, that his lover already had.


End file.
